


É assim que a gente fica marcado [that's how we get our marks]

by tsukhood



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Brazil, Child Neglect, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug-Induced Sex, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Homelessness, Homophobia, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Object Insertion, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Slurs, Stabbing, Threesome - F/M/M, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16774720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukhood/pseuds/tsukhood
Summary: Living in one of the biggest cities of Brazil is fucking hard. It doesn't matter if you are a contractor, a drug dealer, an occultist, a punk or a spoiled little boy. The grey buildings drive you mad, people's indifference hardens you, the streets change you. Could love be stronger than cruelty? Kylo found out the answer. Rey and Hux as well. At the end of the day, the most important thing is surviving, and that's how we get our marks.





	1. 17/12/15

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is pretty much based on real stuff that happened to me, i witnessed or was told by my friends and acquaintances. it’s set on my home country of brazil and was originally written in portuguese, so check footnotes for cultural references that may sound alien to the european/american reader. i hope you enjoy this little panoramic view of one of the cities i love the most, mixed in with the good old kylo, rey and hux that you already know.  
> SO MANY THANKS to my amazing beta reader, @Jessa, for making my translated drafts readable for the English-speaking public.

ch 1.17/12/15(1)

On December’s seventeenth day of 2015 he stabbed his own father.

It was on the middle of the viaduct, they had fought, no one was really paying attention to what was happening. After all, 11pm on a Friday, whoever is listening to two men yelling on the street would rather be pretending nothing is happening at all, oh no. TV is on, the telenovela is being used as background noise to browse Facebook; all that can happen is the next day “man is stabbed to death” appears on the news and you are fearful for your life everytime you walk down that street. Or not even this anymore, there are so many men being stabbed to death on viaducts everyday, so much gory news on newspapers. The background noise is way more comfortable to deal with than all of this.

.

But for him it would be impossible to go home and turn on the tv to use as background noise, share some fake news on facebook and pretend nothing had happened. With a racing heart, the only things he could think about were his bed in his upper middle class condo, the black clothes bought already torn and scattered over it. His laptop folded somewhere around the room. The black blanket he asked his parents to buy when he was 15 and which has never left his bed since. It’s over, you’re not going back there. When you took the switchblade from your pocket you keyed the door of your house forever. The doorman won’t greet you anymore, you won’t pretend you didn’t listen. Tthe housemaid won’t clean up your cum stained tissues. Your mom won’t cook that lasagna you love.

He looked at the old man fallen on the street, looked at his own bloody hand, and nothing made sense to him. 

_“this is a videogame, right? who am i playing? what’s my character’s next mission?”_

He knew it was madness, but it was a quite comfortable madness... nothing too weird for a videogame character, despite the fact he was shaking and his blood pressure had dropped so bad he knew he’d pass out if he didn’t move soon, but he just couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything, just feel. He felt insane, he felt powerful, he felt nothing, he felt like a psycho. He just didn’t feel like himself: Benjamin, the sissy. the little faggot.

It all started when he got those 100 reais(2). It was quite late, he wasn’t a boy anymore, he was around 25. At this age the father would earn 100 each race (always bold and cheeky, the exact opposite of ben) and the mother three times this money with her college internship (always bookish and efficient, the exact opposite of ben). 

He had been struggling with his third undergrad(3) course for some years, but this time he was busy, even better, he was optimistic: he’d been doing some paintings. All about his stuff, naturally, blood, black metal bands, sci-fi villains, but he was enthusiastic about this as he hadn’t been for a while, and everyone could feel it. The thick black hair, always looking gross for not being washed, was being cared for again. Now you could even see his natural waves, with some curls on the tips. The greenish eyes, coming from the italian side of the family; _“we are so proud!”_ , that was the only thing about his appearance that his parents would bother to compliment. Always anxious and intense, he now looked genuinely happy. And the most uncanny thing is that he was actually interacting with people at his uni, saying the good-afternoons and good-mornings that social conduct demands, talking about something that wasn’t the creepy stuff his grandfather did during WW2 or the fucking entropy (that even himself didn’t know what it was about, but he found cool saying it aloud). He’d spend his free afternoons at the art class, headphones on, his voice so deep you almost couldn’t listen to him quietly singing along to the song, filling 4ft canvas with wobbly pictures of people dying. Socially adjusted, at last… the most adjusted a mall goth like him managed to be, of course.

Quickly he found people interested in buying his paintings. he sold four, three for 50 bucks and the last for 25 (he wanted to be nice to uncle Snooker, always so present in his life, always so helpful...) He had almost 200 reais genuinely his, officially his, finally his. He didn’t make anything for his parents- as uncle Lucas kept complaining those pictures were the work of the devil-but he spent quite a while boasting, praising himself, feeling as if he _had discovered a new Eike Batista(4)_ in him.

And what were the new entrepreneur's investments? Fucking nothing. What would he spend it on? If he wanted to go on a shopping spree his mother would give him money; for the bus he had his student card, if he wanted to throw a party and call the seven weirdos that hung out with him to dine at Outback (this was his definition of a party) his parents would pay for it too. The 175 bucks stayed there, proudly forgotten in his student bank account. No money followed them, as he was quickly engulfed by depression again and stopped painting.

Until one day he decided to buy a dildo. Yeah, he spent 100 reais on a dildo. this was most definitively something he couldn’t just go and ask his parents for. So off he went to the sex shop, carefully chosen for being the farthest from his usual route home-uni-mall-course-Fátima’s shop. The place’s walls were all pink, it’s likely no one noticed the rosy hue his pale face took. He looked at all the shapes and sizes. He had done some research on the internet, he knew pretty well which one to take home that would be easy to conceal among his stuff and would fit his virgin hole (as nothing would be more embarrassing than taking all this trouble to buy something that he wasn’t able to shove in properly). He swept his credit card with a shaking hand, tossed the black bag inside the false bottom he made on his backpack and walked nervously until the bus stop, feeling both as a hero and a criminal… despite his only crime there was not buying lube. Doing the “wrong” thing was easier than he thought, and his mind started roaming around the wild nights, dangerous people, suspicious places… but the most important part was yet to come, and he needed focus for everything to go right.

No one at home, just the dogs. He was so excited he almost ran to his room, slamming the door after him (he couldn’t lock it, his parents had taken the key to his bedroom when he was a teen and never gave it back).

For three weeks he was happier than ever, and everything went right. Once again he looked healthy, more than this, he seemed even vain. He exchanged the axe deodorant for actual baths, tidied up his closet so that he could actually see what was inside it and choose something that wasn’t the same black jeans and sweatshirt. And his skin wasn’t so shiny anymore. His mother found it wonderful to not be forced to ask her adult son to shower as if he was a kid, but the father had a bad feeling about this.

“A true man puts on just some jeans and a shirt and done, only faggots care that much about how they look.”

“Do you think Emília is gonna want to caress my hair if it looks like I can fry an egg on its grease? I don’t think so, dad.”

“Are you dating Emília, son? You don’t talk about her since military school times.”

“Yeah mom, I am, do you think I’d sleep on such a damn fine ginger chick?”

“Watch your mouth, she’s not just some ginger chick, she’s so talented she was class leader for two years in a row. Treat her well, you don’t want to lose her to Mitaka.”

“Do you think she’s gonna swap this big boy here for some sissy with a small dick? Let him talk, boys will be boys, he’s big but he can take good care of a lady, right Ben?”

On December’s seventeenth day of 2015, Benjamin Organa got out of the bus that left him on the corner of his street, walked to his upper middle class condo, ignored the doorman’s good afternoon, unlocked the door of his house and entered. He should’ve known something was wrong; his mother shouldn’t be there at this time of the day, but she and his father were standing in the kitchen. They looked worried, something regarding the family’s finances, he thought. he wished it was.

“Son, come here.”

And there it was on the kitchen table, calmy lying, creating an uncomfortable contrast with the setting, screaming its own inadequacy in a way ben almost passed out on sight of.

“Miss Rodolfa found this at your bedroom this morning.”

_miss rodolfa is an old fat whore that if i find her i’m totally choking her to death_ , he thought.

“Daaamn, Emília forgot this here… Jesus, she must be panicking.” It wasn’t that hard getting out of this, yeah. But his mother’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.

“son…”

“Benjamin, don’t play dumb, you’re having sex with men.”

Another blow. _Calm down, you can get out of this too_.

“Dad, with all respect, the dumb one here is you. What the fuck, why are you saying I’m a fag?”

The old man grabbed the phone from his pocket, snorted like an animal and started reading bitterly, reciting each word as if it was an insult.

“Tomorrow i’ll send pics of the gape. Heart smiley. Can you shove in more than three fingers? Naughty boy. You’re so dirty. Eggplant smiley. Picture of some guy’s dick.”

He couldn’t think of a lie to tell, he couldn’t feel anything, he couldn’t even move. He was being stabbed by each one of those words slowly.

“Who’s ‘ginger creep from wpp(5)’? Not Emília, right? This gross pink dick isn’t Emília’s, right?? This GUY dick, right??”

He looked around, trying to ground himself. His mother looked distraught to a point even crying was too hard, and his father glared at him like a victim’s father glares at the murderer… which in a certain way was the truth, actually. In his father’s eyes, each one of those messages was a bullet on his son’s body, the real son, that one that didn’t get men’s nudes and talked to ‘ginger creep from wpp’. Making an inhuman effort, Ben asked, his powerful voice sounding almost like a whimper,

“Who showed you this?”

“Uncle Lucas. You left everything on last time we went there. All your accounts.”

_All your accounts means literally everything_. He’d need to sleep that night aware his mother, father, uncle and God knows who else had seen him saying everything he wanted to do to some guy on the internet, everything he wanted the guy to do to him, but mainly it meant everyone had seen him naked, sitting on a dildo, twerking his ass and with his tongue out like a porn actress. His dick, his balls, his anus, everything was exposed in there, with the camera’s flash spilled all over it to make details more vivid, and his face could be seen on most pics, to make pretty sure it was himself (the ‘ginger creep from wpp’ demanded it) He didn’t know if he would make it to the end of the day.

“We are taking your credit card, son.”, his father said.

“No computer games after midnight. And hand over your phone, we’ll get you one of those older models, with no internet.”

“Poor Lucas”, his mother said, “Your uncle needs to take heart medicines now, are you aware of that? He didn’t deserve this.”

“If I knew you’d become a faggot I’d have your hair shaved off back then when you started letting the hair grow. Buzzcut, and a good beating if you complained!”, yelled the father.

“I’M NOT A FAGGOT, I’m bisexual, I like girls too, I dated Deise, do you remember?”, Ben replied.

“There’s no such thing as bisexual, if you like guys you are a fag, it’s simple.”, was his father’s answer.

“You dated her for three months, son. you never had another girlfriend after her.”, his mother sighed and said.

“If you like girls so bring one home.”, concluded the father.

They had put Ben on fight mode, and everyone knew better they shouldn’t put Ben on fight mode.

“Dad, don’t freaking say you didn’t try anything with uncle Lauro before marrying mom. You’ve known each other since, I don’t know, the 80’s? Never ever kissed?”

“Ben, get out. This conversation is over.”

“Son…”, his mother tried to intervene.

“Ah, nice to know you’re manly enough for illegal racing, yet for coming out…”

His father got irate.

“GET OUT FROM THIS ROOM BEN, and delete all that shit you have on that computer. Tomorrow we start dealing with things very differently here at this home.”

_Keys, phone, laptop, two outfit changes, do I bring the boots? I love them but they take up a lot of space. I think I’ll wear on me everything that’s too big for the backpack. Documents, that’s important. Painting stuff won’t fit, but I get new ones later. The knife is going in. The knife is definitely going in._

_I’ll bring some food, there’s food at uncle Snooker’s house but anyway...or Fátima’s? Should I? I don’t know if my accounts are on at uncle Lucas’ house, maybe he’s reading everything, it’s likely I’ll have to make new ones. I’m gonna arrive out of the blue, I hope at least one of them is at home. Does Fátima work today? All I ever wanted was to live with the ginger guy, but he says he can’t, that no one knows, he’d be fired… I love him… the last time I felt this way was with Deise at high school, but I was too stupid back then. What happened to her? She’s probably entering uni now, she was too young, it was so wrong. She was a fucking child, what the fuck._

_For dad it’s okay fucking a child, but you fuck an adult man and it’s the end of the world, right? I am so sure he’s closeted. uncle Lauro is bi, I know this._

_7 pm, too early. Fucking daylight saving time._

_But I never fucked her. She wanted to, yeah, but I thought I was too ugly for it. I still think I am, actually. I didn’t fuck the ginger guy either, just sent pics… and jacked off a lot to him, oh my God._

_I don’t like to call him “the ginger guy”, it’s stupid, I wish I knew his real name._

_I think I’m showering before leaving, uncle Snooker’s shower is electric and I don’t know about Fátima, it’s probably like this too._

_Almost 8 pm… it’s taking too long to get dark, fuck. I want to kill these fucking dogs that won’t stop barking._

_I want to kill that fucking bitch Rodolfa, that gross hag too idiot to find any job that isn’t creeping around since the 80’s. I bet she watches my parents having sex from the keyhole. By the way, parents? I don’t have parents. Benjamin Organa, daddy’s little boy, living in the best part of the town, a politician’s son, grandson of Italian immigrants, only studied at the best schools, high society to the core. I’m not like this. This is not my name. I’m not that person._

_I want to go to the kitchen, but I’m not fucking going there now the telenovela is on and everyone’s there. I guess i’ll have to leave hungry. And I’m taking the dildo, yeah, it takes a lot of space but I’m not giving them the pleasure of stealing it from me._

_9:30 pm still. Jesus Christ, why is it taking so long? Is my phone fully charged? Are my headphones working?_

_I’m setting fire to my room. No one will know who I was… I can’t do so, the smoke will bring them here. I guess I’ll have to throw it from the window. The cleaning staff won’t read it, just throw it away._

_10:30 pm. I think they are already asleep. Losing my phone, my privacy, what’s left from my dignity, my hair? I’m leaving now. I’m leaving now, and I’ll never come back. Fuck everything._

\-----------------------------------------------------------

It’s said one can leave thug life, but thug life won’t ever leave him. When you have a troubled life, you develop some instincts. A crook knows when someone’s approaching without turning the head to see them, he knows by the sound of a door opening if it’s a friend or a stranger, he wakes up easily. And when you’re the king of illegal racing in the 80’s, you have all these instincts perfectly tuned, even 30 years later, even if you’re an old man, they always come to your aid. After a certain age you’re not just a crook anymore, you’re a hunter.

When Ben left his room wearing boots, not socks, his father guessed what would happen. When he left by the front door, clumsily trying to make as little noise as he could, he knew it well. The old lion got up from his bed, put on a pair of tennis shoes and went on another hunt.

The stag(6) was walking in a typical way for prey animals: shivering, looking around all the time, perfectly aware of his place in the food chain. When he saw the old lion approaching the bus stop, he panicked, started running and disappeared into the maze of poorly lit streets around there. But a hunt is also a matter of intelligence, and clever as he was he knew he couldn’t run after a 20 something boy for more than one or two minutes. He knew, though, that even a 20 something boy, semi sedentary as Ben was, wouldn’t be able to run for more than one or two minutes without stopping to rest, and sooner or later he would reach a big avenue and would be forced to wait until the lights were green to cross it. Despite it being a pursuit, there was no hurry at all, all he had to do was not lose the stag from sight and, even if he did so, he’d find him again soon. The old lion crossed the street and followed his prey, walking calmly.

The sound of the stag’s boots and his very heavy breathing in a night with few cars on the street was enough to keep him on the radar, even when his black hair and clothes merged with the night, the neighbourhood’s quietness would betray him. Sometimes a moonbeam or a street lamp would make him visible, sometimes the hunter would follow in total darkness, but never stray from his pace. Occasionally the sound of footsteps would stop and the panting would increase, indicating the stag had stopped to rest. Not for too long though, years of martial arts training had taught him how to control his breath between movements. And then the lion heard someone screaming.

“DON’T COME CLOSE. GO AWAY. GET OUT. I’M WARNING YOU. OUT. OUT.”

He kept walking, and the screams grew higher and higher, practically a map of where the prey was.

“I’M KILLING YOU IF YOU GET ANY CLOSER. I’M WARNING YOU. GO AWAY. GET AWAY. GO HOME.”

Finally they found each other. The prey was dramatically standing on the middle of the viaduct roughly 100 ft away. He feared some car would run over his prey and end the hunt, but the night was quite calm.

“YOU’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, BENJAMIN, GET OUT. You’ll end up being run over. Stop being dramatic. Go home. Stop annoying me.”

“I’M WARNING YOU, IF YOU GET CLOSE TO ME I’LL KILL YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

He wouldn’t move from where he was. The hunter kept walking towards him.

“You’re not killing anyone, you’re not man enough for this, come here, let’s go, your mother must have gone sick of the stomach by now.”

“IF YOU KEEP GOING I’M KILLING YOU RIGHT NOW, OKAY? I HAVE A WEAPON, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

There was just a couple of feet between them. The prey pulled a switchblade from his pocket and pointed it at the hunter, who couldn’t help but notice how ridiculous the situation was. A stag killing a lion?

“YOU’RE NOT KILLING ANYONE, LITTLE SISSY! SISSY! FAGGOT! PUT DOWN THIS SHIT, YOU’LL END UP JUST HARMING YOURSELF!”

The lion closed in. The stag wouldn’t release the blade.

Knife fights are something every self-respecting thug knows how to deal with. Disarming a big silly teen in a mental breakdown, especially if you are his father? Easy peasy, clever as he was, he’d take ben home and throw away that fucking switchblade (that shouldn’t have been ever bought, by the way). But even clever as he was, he forgot that big silly teen was a 6’3’ ft tall man, black belt, almost 25 years old and had already broken a classmate’s arm just punching it, and he was an old man with a herniated disc and 4 inches shorter than him. He also forgot he wasn’t a lion and his son was a person, but he only realised it once he started choking on his own blood.

\--------------------------------------------

Fátima was a lesbian that worked piercing and tattooing people at an alternative shop. Everyone in that area knew her well, not only did she have a terrible mood but she dressed from head to toe in holographic and metallic textiles, she enjoyed being the center of the show. Here comes the armor. Look, it’s the alien. The disco is here. No need to say you needed a certain intimacy level to call her this way and don’t get a sounding fuck you.

She thought she was only having to deal with middle aged drunkards when she arrived home that night, but fate had other plans for her. There was a man sitting at her doormat, dressed all in black, hands hidden inside his coat and crying. He shivered a lot, seemed to be really cold, despite the night being annoyingly hot as December nights usually are(7). She started tightening her hold against the brass knuckles, until she saw what really had happened.

“Oh my God, please, help me, I killed my father.”

“Ben? What the fuck is happening here?”

He was crying too much to be able to give her a proper answer.

“I killed my father, fuck, I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know where to go, I don’t know, I don’t want to…”

“Ben, shut up, come home with me.”

“I don’t want to die, I don’t want to go back home, I don’t want to be found, I don’t want to…”

“Holy shit Ben, if you keep crying in the middle of the street they SURE will call the fucking cops. You know this isn’t your condo, don’t you?”

She placed him on her sofa-bed, told him to take off all the bloody clothes, gave him some water and waited for him to calm down. Unfortunately she was very aware of what had happened, what that meant, and what was gonna happen. She probably imagined that would happen sooner or later, with all the stuff ben had told her about his family and household, and the scenario that would haunt her conscience now was painfully real.

There he was in front of her, curled up like a rat, looking way smaller than his 6’3’ft. Benjamin, the boy from the rich part of the city that would visit her shop to change his piercings each 6 months, talked more about occultism than feelings and had never gotten laid, now officially an outlaw. She couldn’t help but feel pitiful.

“Your dad was a son of a whore and deserved to die but, man, seriously, you fucked up big time.”

“I know.”

“I won’t help you to fix this shit, okay?”

“What? How come?”

“Ben, I don’t want cops in my home.”

Fátima knew very well the police and the men, and knew very well the fate of boys with unstable personalities as soon as they held a weapon. She had seen it more than once, each one in a way. Childhood friends, coworkers… even herself. As she imagined, he jumped from the couch, immediately stopped looking vulnerable and started yelling at her… exactly like men do.

“Oh great, so you’re kicking me out now?? You don’t care if I get fucked, if I go to jail??”

“Ben, holy shit, shut up, it’s 2 in the morning. CALM DOWN. I won’t kick you out. You stay the night here, tomorrow we decide what we’re gonna do.”

“Man, I thought you were my friend. This is a fucking betrayal, I can’t believe it.”

He looked like he was about to cry again, and she hadn’t 2 inches of patience to deal with this. Yeah, he hadn’t realised at all his situation. Yeah, he wouldn’t last two minutes on the street that night. _Chill, he just left his condo, give him some time to realise, he’s still a kid_. But she was a kid too when she fucked up big time. But her friends were children too. Life is for those who survive it, and she was more and more sure Ben wouldn’t, not out of her house. Well, he had a good size, and the will for doing irredeemable shit, but his mind was of a teen who plays Playstation all day long and only had seen guns on American flicks. He totally would challenge someone he shouldn’t for being ignorant of the folks in the underworld, get shot by a whole gang and thrown in the river like a trash bag. Even worse, he’d do so near her house, and the next day the police would be all around her neighbourhood, or the crime lord would demand explanations from her for bringing some cheeky bastard to annoy him and the gang.

Did she want to give him the real deal? She did. Did she want to deal with a grown ass man with a deep voice whining and getting her old sofa wet with snot? Definitely not. So she decided to make a small sacrifice. Just one. Just 20 reais, that she would quickly recover selling all the stuff inside Ben’s bag.

“Hey, you’re fucked up anyway, do you want to have a cold one and watch shitty movies?”

He glared at her as if she had just insulted him.

“Don’t you have anything stronger?”

“Ben, are you aware alcohol is expensive as fuck? And no fucking way i’m buying drugs for you.”

As planned, both got sloppy drunk and spent the night laughing at the monkeys on the documentaries and the fake exorcisms on the religious channel(8). Fátima even broke her promise and found some mouldy weed at the bottom of her underwear drawer. The two laid on her sofa-bed like idiots, sweating even with the windows open.

“Bro… do you know what would be cool… getting a tattoo… of the day i killed my father… so badass, man… so sick…”

“So let’s go man…”

She had a tattoo machine at her house, a bit of motor coordination and absolutely no serious judgment about what she was doing.

“Put it on my chest like… 17 of 12 of 2015… uh, put it just 15.”

“On the chest? Man, it’s gonna hurt like hell, but you decide.”

“I’m a manly guy, I can take it.”

“Ben, you’re a fag, you just told me.”

Both laughed.

“Put it on the right side… it’s like the heart but on the other side, because it’s the heart of hate, right? I’m so full of hate, man…”

“Yeah, okay ‘full of hate’, stop saying bullshit or I’ll tattoo ‘whiny emo’ on your ass.”

“I’ll stab you in the fucking cunt.”

“Don’t you try.”


	2. fallen angel [anjo caído]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's new life forces him to deal with a mattress that is too short. Some cookies aren't what they seem. An old "friend" returns. A fallen angel is born.

ch 2.fallen angel

“Cool, bro. So what’s your name?”

“Kylo.”

“Wow, that’s so cool. Is it made up?”

“No, it’s a Latin word. Dark magick stuff, occultism and so.”

“You’re crazy, man, I don’t deal with this shit.”

“I deal. Once I choked a guy using my mind powers. That son of a bitch never again tried anything.”

“Damn! So I better be nice to you, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re fucking evil, bro. That’s so wicked.”

He was starting to earn a reputation in there. No one had ever seen him in that area, doing that kind of service, but he was a quite distinct figure: well tailored clothes, all in black, the tips of his hair dyed blood red, taller than most tall men and baby faced. Seeing how seriously he dealt with the whole issue one could easily tell he was a rookie, that kind of boy that would stare at people cheating at school or littering the streets. He would do his service, anyway. It wasn’t like he had any other choice.

After that drugs and booze fuelled night Fátima did what she said she’d do, and kicked Ben from her house. It didn’t bother him too much; once he recovered from the hangover and the shock of being betrayed by his friend, he realised he still could go to uncle Snooker’s house.

Uncle Snooker was a very old and ugly man, who would drink all day long at the snooker bar near Ben’s school since he could remember. He couldn’t recall how they met, he just remembered one day he went there to buy some cookies and the old man called him.

_‘don’t talk to strangers’_ , his mother would say. 

_‘always respect your elders’_ , she’d say as well. 

How could he be rude and ignore some poor decrepit old gentleman with a drinking problem, that only wanted some company at those hot and melancholic afternoons in the 90’s, when the only possible social life for someone like him would be the same three old fellas unhappily married with the same talks about the world cup, hot women and the president?(1)

They started talking about amenities. The old creep would ask about school. Ben would tell him about kids calling him ‘ears’ and ‘oxygen thief’. The old creep would ask about his parents, Ben would tell him he never would see them, only at night, and usually Mommy was angry at Daddy and Daddy wanted to watch violent movies on the TV, and no one wanted to play race pilot with him. 

_That’s so sad, a good boy like you don’t deserve this_ … yes, Snooker understood him. He’d understand when Ben talked about things he’d see, pretty lights around people, Grandpa and Grandma that were already deceased playing with his hair before he fell asleep, the classmates that would break an arm or leg after Ben telling them he wanted them to get really hurt. Snooker would see Ben’s drawings of demons and not tell him to throw them away. He found them beautiful. He asked to see more.

After a while there would come poetry about demons, worries about Deise’s feelings, love declarations to Deise, attempts to deny having feelings for Deise, insults towards Deise, and constant visits to Snooker’s house. The house was as run down as its owner, full of mystical symbols of several religions, but Ben would rather a lot more staying at this house than at his parents’ wealthy environment. He’d spend days there, but his parents never worried about this, he was supposedly ‘at his buddies’, so everything was okay. 

Uncle Snooker still lived at the same house, he knew that. They would still see each other long after Ben graduated high school. He never got the keys, so he rang the bell and waited for the familiar face to show up. He had an expression that was quite hard to read due to the marks on his skin, that Ben was never quite sure were scars or a skin disease, but he was used to it.

“Good morning, Ben. I didn’t expect you so early.”

“Uncle, I need to talk to you… it’s very serious…”

He told everything, without any fear of suffering retaliation. Since his teens he understood uncle Snooker wasn’t someone that would, or even could, go to the police to denounce him. He had a somewhat shadowy life, and stabbing a man to death wouldn’t be something that would make the old man worried or even surprised.

He listened to Ben quietly, and retorted:

“Stupid boy, why did you bother Fátima? Haven’t you learned yet you should always talk to me first when you have this kind of issue??”

“I was scared, okay? fuck.”

“So now you need a place to stay, and wonder if you are being pursued by the murder of your father… we have a risky situation here, Ben.”

Snooker’s cold, polite and unpleasant way of speaking seemed even more disturbing now, and a previously calm Ben was fighting tears again. He had no idea of what would happen to him if Snooker denied him shelter.

“You are aware that if you desire to live with me you must work, right?”

“Oh my God, where?? My face must be on all the newspapers of the city by now…”

“Calm down, Ben. I know what you will do. Do you remember the arrangement we would do when you were a teenager?”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“...what?”

“The bags.”

He remembered the bags pretty well. How badass he had felt with these! There he was, the emo incel that would smoke at the school’s gate to look cool, finally doing something actually dangerous. He earned enough to buy the PS2 his mom wouldn’t buy him, and in an illegal way above everything! So badass!! So evil!!

Now he’d be back to this routine, this time not by will and it made him quite uncomfortable, But what else could he do? It was hard for him to adapt his thoughts and plans to the new life he’d have from now on. Uni was gone, as well as any other uni he could apply to, a formal job likewise. Walking around his neighbourhood… old neighbourhood, was completely out of the question, like all places he had grown up attending and places he knew his acquaintances would go. He’d probably only be able to go out at night, and even at night he’d have to avoid restaurants and bars popular among his social network… old social network, as now he’d start going to places and hanging with people he never knew that existed…

He began working right on that saturday night. He had been to that street a couple of times before. He knew how to do what had to be done, but it was undeniable the fact he was very nervous, and he tried to calm down, putting on his headphones and sitting at the shops’ displays, on the dirtiness of empty bottles and used plastic cups. He had 10 cookie bags with him, and needed to get rid of at least six of them. It wasn’t so hard, his rich wannabe goth looks made him quite approachable; some girls even asked him where he had bought his boots [he quickly realised he’d sell better if he put on his best clothes], which made him a bit reactionless. He sincerely thought they found him cute because his face was hidden by shadows, but never told them. He took the underground train that morning with the pleasant feeling of an accomplished mission.

So little by little he was getting familiar with his new reality. His bedroom wasn’t that pretty thing anymore, with custom furniture made of light wood and clean sheets every week. Now he slept in a small, mouldy room, the only pieces of furniture a dresser lacking two of its three drawers and a stained mattress a bit shorter than him, that would force him to sleep curled around himself or accept his legs would be dangling out all night long. He’d spend most of his time sleeping or browsing the internet, occasionally walking one or two blocks to do grocery shopping for Snooker or buy cigarettes for himself, as stress made him smoke more regularly since he had ran away from home. He had only three clothing changes plus the ones he had brought from home, that he needed to learn how to wash, dry and fold or he’d end up with nothing to wear.

Sometimes he’d be attacked by horrible feelings of fear, guilt, self hate and hate for society, that he would deal with by punching the old dresser already ruined by termites or venting with the ginger creep, who was always online at the most unusual times. Without the anxiety of his parents storming into his room, they started having webcam sex often… how that man would provoke him! Ben didn’t say he escaped or killed his father, he told the ginger he had moved out and was pretty free to do whatever he wanted to, so any opportunity the man had of sending inappropriate messages or photos to Ben he’d take. Ben could be grocery shopping, he would check on his Whatsapp and there would be the clueless bastard saying he’s hard or asking for nudes. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed all this perverse attention, and tried to encourage it every time he could as well.

Without his parents too Ben could do something he wanted since his teens: dye his hair. He wanted his hair tips red as if they were dripping blood, so one afternoon he went to the drugstore and bought everything he needed to dye it on his own. It ended up shitty, as he didn’t know what to do. It made him spend three times the money he thought he would need. After more or less three attempts and a toilet seat destroyed in a fit of rage, he managed to achieve a lovely crimson tone going up to his ears.

Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday and sometimes Thursday he’d go to the nightclub street with his bags. He quickly got to know the place, the people, where it was quieter or louder, which places would stay open during the night. He hated the noise and all the drunk people screaming around and bumping him, but no one dared to go further than this: the fierce glares and 6’3’ frame were enough to keep away from him most people who didn’t want to buy his bags. Unfortunately, there was always someone too drunk or crazy to ignore the obvious threat and attempt to have a chat.

“Greetings buddy. Such a beautiful night, isn’t it?” A man smelling of alcohol and dirty armpits approached with a smile.

“Yeah.” 

He tried to make it quite clear with the tone of his voice that he was unhappy with the interruption. The man stretched his neck to peek inside Ben’s backpack.

“Selling cookies, nice man, i love cookies, too bad it’s too damn expensive. Are you having a good sell tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“And what’s your name?”

He couldn’t tell his name. The nickname obviously wouldn’t be recognised but… was he still that person? Did that name still mean something to him? One week ago he was procrastinating uni assignments and playing videogames, now he was escaping from the police, selling weed cookies at the other side of the town in front of a nightclub, talking to a completely stoned homeless person. He could tell any name there, that it would become his name and everyone would know him that way. So he decided he wanted to be Kylo Ren. He had been using this name on social media for a while, most people outside of his upper middle class social circle would know him by this name. He’d tell people it came from the Latin ‘Caelus’, but actually he just chose it because it sounded cool. Ren was completely made up.

Anyway, the meaning was fit for him. As the Roman Caelus, he was a God. A force of nature, a fallen angel, with endless power over life and death. The boy that would always talk about being evil and killing people wasn’t a fuckboy trying to impress girls anymore, he was an actual murderer, and that would be forever. This total certainty of being unable to turn back would haunt him day and night. Sometimes he’d be quiet at his room, watching some movie and eating ramen noodles, and he’d be reminded of his father calling him his big boy, buying cartoon villain costumes for him, messing up his hair with his hand until he became too tall for the old man to reach his head. Those moments would destroy his emotional wellbeing in a matter of seconds. It only took a delicate memory fleeting through his mind as he was doing the dishes or the sight of a happy family on the street to make poor Ben run to some secluded place to cry, or kick a street lamp, or yank out some car’s mirror.

At the same time this certainty made waves of adrenaline rush through his back. He’d look at himself at the stained mirror in his bathroom, stare at his own eyes, so intense and dark, and mentally recite: ‘ _I can. yes, I can. I can do anything I want, go anywhere I want, there’s no law over me. There’s no one bigger than me, literally or metaphorically. Whoever goes against me will be eliminated. I am powerful._ ’ It wasn’t elementary school anymore, where kids would call him cliché insults and the most he’d do would be cry or beat someone. That was real life, whoever challenged him would end up DEAD. Lying in a pool of blood, just like the old racer that thought he could attack his sexuality.

On a low traffic night, he went to a barber and tattoo shop that would stay open until late in the night. He had spent all he brought with him from home on his attempts to dye his hair, so he gathered all he earned with the bags and a bit of money he stole from uncle Snooker’s wallet. He had scheduled this appointment for something big, something he wanted to do since he was a teen.

“Do you know what it’s gonna be?”

“Do an angel of death. A fallen angel, like a demon.”

“Like this?” 

The artist pointed to a corpse like figure in his portfolio, with angel wings and a sickle.

“Yeah, just do it with my hair.”

“Ahh, like you as the reaper?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)On the year of 1992, Brazil's president suffered an impeachment


	3. first order [primeira ordem]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A less than romantic date takes unexpected turns. Some CEO's aren't afraid of drinking and driving. The alchemical symbol of the Sun holds a deeper meaning for Kylo than he'd ever imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of dubcon!

ch.3 first order

“How am I gonna know it’s really you?”

“Trust me, you will.”

_Trust me, you will_ … the words echoed at the back of Kylo’s mind. _Yeah, sure_. There he was, in a part of the city he didn’t know, near a square full of drunks. 9 pm on the first autumn month, when the sunset would happen earlier again(1), and the only sources of light would come from bars or street lamps that weren’t broken. The ginger creep came from the high society, and would likely bring him to a refined place. So he pulled back his hair, and put on his newest and least goth clothes, to try to ‘look good’ according to mainstream beauty standards. With folded arms, leaning against a wall and analysing each darkened silhouette that entered his field of vision, all Kylo could think was ‘what a shitty idea I’ve had’.

He and the ginger had been chatting for some months. It’s funny how things begin, isn’t it? Everything Ben wanted was to talk about dark magick, World War II, dark magick in World War II, and other evil and occult stuff, like everyone in that chatroom. Like a certain “General from Arkanis”, that would comment every single post Ben would make. He liked that name, “General of Arkanis”, it had a kinda imposing vibe. One day Ben sent him a private message, and the General answered it. Something about the use of the alchemical symbol of the Sun in Norse mythology, likely(2). 

And from the use of the alchemical symbol of the Sun in Norse mythology they went to talks about society, from society they went to the topic of homophobia. They talked a bit about their personal lives, and on some night in October Ben ended up sending a shirtless picture, in a very informal moment. Much to his surprise, the General sent a shirtless picture of his own, and from tit pics to photos of dicks, asses and object insertions it was a quick jump. Ben knew since his teens he was into men, ashamed as he was of that. But his sex life had been always so pitiful he didn’t have to hide a boyfriend from his family, because simply there was never one. There were soft pecks on mouths of other schoolboys, that’s true; and an intense feeling of unease when he found out his grandpa was hot as hell back in WWII, but that was his first real life sexual experience with someone of the same sex.

Actually, not just sexual. He was genuinely in love with the stranger at the other side of the webcam, and sensed he was in love too, despite neither of them having said ‘i love you’ or referring to the other as a ‘boyfriend’. Each one had too little information about the other’s real life. They knew both were from the same city, one of them a uni student, the other a CEO [he’d never tell where, he just said it was a big company]. One of them was roughly 25 years old, the other only said he was older. One of the men had a distinctively deep and nasal tone of voice, in stark contrast with the youthful face. The other had a hoarse, high pitched voice, and spoke in a quite foppish way. Ben had already showed his face and every other body part you could think of, but his partner refused to expose himself from the upper neck. He said he was a ginger, which was quite easy to believe, as he was a ginger down there. Ben doubted someone could be so petty he’d bleach his pubes just to pretend to be a redhead.

But things were changing fast in Ben’s life. Kylo Ren, actually, at this time already an expected sight at the doors of the nightclubs, when the cool alternative youths would leave the parties. He had gotten used to the drunks and the shouting. Occasionally the cops would show up, he’d have to shove quickly all his stuff inside his backpack and run away; or he felt he was being watched by other ‘spiked’ food dealers. He knew he was in a pretty complicated situation. Everything could end all of a sudden. He could be arrested and never again see his lover. He’d just stop answering his messages out of the blue, and the poor ginger would never know what had happened to him... Kylo would not accept this. Now he was in control of his own life, and refused to become just a foggy memory in the mind of a man whose face he didn’t even fucking know.

And this is how one day he suggested in a chat they should meet in real life. The ginger creep got startled, naturally, but seemed quite eager after the initial response. They arranged the meeting for a place away from their usual destinations: a square near the city’s crackhead dwelling point. For Kylo’s displeasure, he’d still refuse to identify himself in any way.

“How am I gonna know it’s really you?”

“Trust me, you will.”

Kylo couldn’t see his face, but by the ginger creep’s tone of voice he could feel he smiled as he said that.

\------------

Almost 10 pm, the ground was already full of cigarette butts. He had a last look around before giving up, returning home and blocking the ginger creep on Whatsapp: the same stoned people around, only this time there was a man leaving one of the bars. A tall man, wearing a black jacket, a necklace with the simplified alchemical symbol of the sun and… ginger hair.

“You’re crazy as hell…”

A naughty smile appeared on the man’s face as he muttered these words. Kylo approached. He was still getting used to the sight of the man he had fantasized about for months. He was so pale and foreign looking as he had imagined; even with the faint lighting of the street lamps Kylo could see his features were quite different from most people he knew(3). The face looked a lot younger than the image he had. When the ginger mentioned he was ‘older’ and ‘a big deal in the company’, he thought he was gonna meet a man on his 40’s, wrinkled and such. The person in front of him could easily pass as a 20-year old if it weren’t for the shadows accentuating the hollow of his cheeks. He seemed to be very thin, despite the jacket adding volume to his frame, his slender neck was noticeable.

“Are you aware you really shouldn’t set a date with a stranger at 9 pm, near a square full of hobos? Man, I could have been a serial killer…”

If the looks weren’t enough of a sign he was indeed the ginger creep, the harshness of his retort made it sure.

“The crazy one here is you, who set this shit up. By the way, what the fuck were you doing in that bar? I’ve been here waiting for you since 9 pm.” Kylo confronted. This aggressive wording was a usual feature of their conversations.

“What? How come, since 9 pm? I got there around 8:35, I didn’t see anyone until around 9:15, so I entered there to drink something, to escape from the lower folk.”

“Yeah, fuck that, where are we going? I can’t stand these fuckers asking me for a lighter.”

“Calm down, Kylo. Let’s go to my car.”

“I am calm.”

The man glanced at Kylo with a strong expression of contempt and disbelief, as they walked towards his car.

“Fuck you. By the way, my name is Armitage, but you can call me Hux.”

“...what?”

“Armitage. A, ar, em, i, tee, a, gee, e. No, seriously, call me just Hux.”

“It’s ugly as hell. They could’ve given you a normal name.”

Once again, the scornful glare. Kylo was noticing that should be one of the man’s default expressions.

They entered Hux’s car, that was way more comfortable and roomy than Kylo’s father’s car. Ten years newer, too. Hux turned on the engine, and replied.

“...no comments here. No, that’s unbelievable, the man who uses a cartoon character’s name thinking he can mock mine.”

Kylo almost shouted.

“It’s Latin!!”

“It’s cringeworthy. Really.”

They drove by several streets. Broad avenues, well lit, busy even around 11 pm. How beautiful was the city at night! But Kylo couldn’t think about this, or he would start reminiscing about the trips in his father’s car, and would have an urge to cry or destroy something. _Not now, not in front of the man he’d likely end up the night lying beside_. They entered the streets of a wealthy looking neighbourhood, even wealthier than the neighbourhoods he was used to. They parked near a restaurant. Kylo froze at this very moment, realising the monumental shit he had just done.

“Hux, I’m out, I’m not going there, I can’t enter there…”

Literally everything he did NOT need was showing up at a classy restaurant while being hunted down by the cops. Hux didn’t seem impressed.

“Easy, this place is not what you think. Do you think I want to be seen around dating men? This… this is the restaurant the Governor takes his bitch to. It’s full of whores, dealers, trust me, a fag isn’t something that catches their attention.” He gave a sarcastic smile, and walked towards the parking lot’s payment post.

“By the way, do you know the editor of that famous newspaper? A big ass sissy, and a slut as well, every single month he brings a new uni student here.”

\------

The place seemed to Kylo like any other expensive restaurant he’d been to on special occasions. Well dressed people, men in social shirts and trousers. Young women with their hair dyed blond, older women with faces full of plastic surgery. He was the only goth in there, but surprisingly no one noticed him. Actually, nobody looked at the other tables at all, and when they noticed he was staring at them, he got some ugly looks. The menu was nothing special apart from the prices: every dish costed more than 100 reais.

Despite not having eaten anything all day long and being hungry as hell, Kylo’s main interest there was Hux. _So, this was his name, and this was his face_. While Hux talked [and how much did he talk!] and they waited for the food, Kylo was eating him out with his eyes. Those little hands, paler than his face, gesturing furiously. The little mouth, so rosy and feminine, that wouldn’t stop moving. The red brows, almost disappearing against the paleness of his forehead. The delicate wrap of the white social shirt around his slender waist… thankfully there was a table blocking the view of Kylo’s lower body.

“They annoyed me so much at school, man. Jokes about fire. Calling me a Scot, a German, or just a redhead. Pretending they were speaking English to me… it was shit.” 

The wine glasses of their meal had a quicker effect on Hux than on Kylo, he realised. He usually was way more discreet with embarrassing details of his life. Hux proceeded with his drunken monologue.

“One day a kid called me a faggot. Do you know what I did?” He suddenly pulled closer to Kylo, making his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat.

“I broke his teeth. I pushed the bastard from the stairs. No big deal, my father paid the security guard. That son of a bitch served for something, after all.” he whispered, giving a sadistic grin.

“I killed my father. Stabbed him. Near the viaduct.” Kylo replied. Apparently he wasn’t totally sober as well, as he had just decided it was a good idea competing with Hux to see who was the most wicked of the two.

“You’re kidding, Kylo. Fuck you.”

“Google that, ‘Hanselmo Organa’.”

Hux took his smartphone from his pocket. He typed a bit, and his eyes grew wide.

“...fuck, you’re not joking around. You’re dangerous, huh.” 

The words were harsh, but he had a quite playful look on his face.

“I’m already regretting going on a date with you… who knows if you are not gonna kill me and toss my body behind some bushes. Oh dear, oh dear, are you gonna kill me, Kylo?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Hux seemed to enjoy a bit too much that threatening conversation.

“You’re worthless, Kylo… I like it.” 

He eyed Kylo in the same thirsty way Kylo had eyed him earlier on that night. He noticed Hux’s gaze was looming over his lips and his chest. It was pretty obvious both of them knew how this night was going to end. One of his hands slipped under the table and touched Hux’s thigh. Hux seemed very fond of his initiative.

“Yeah, you’re not gonna wait until we arrive home.”

Kylo kept there, until he felt a strong grip on that hand.

“...neither will I.” Hux had gotten so close to Kylo that he could smell the alcohol on his breath.

After Hux paid the [surreal] bill, they went to the men’s restroom. No one was there, as the restaurant would close soon. They went to one of the stalls, and made out furiously.

It had been literally years since Kylo had last kissed someone. He couldn’t remember attacking someone’s lips, neck, his entire face so intensely before. He shoved his hands under Hux’s shirt and undershirt and let them roam anxiously, sometimes softly grabbing and scratching his skin, and Hux did the same to him. There was passion there, yes, but also a powerful rage, and an urge of physically imposing themselves against each other in five or six minutes. They wanted to yank off each other’s clothes, but also they wanted to draw blood.

They could have stayed there into the night, but the restaurant was going to close. The cleaning staff would storm into there and kick them out, so Hux pulled away from Kylo and went to the sink to comb his hair back into place.

\-----------

In the long 30 minutes it took them to arrive at Hux's apartment, Kylo could only think about one thing. It was the biggest apartment he had ever seen, but he didn’t pay much attention. He wanted to finish what he had started. Hux hung his coat in a chair, sat on the couch and crossed his legs. He kept calmly staring at Kylo, who was still standing. Kylo found that quite weird.

“So, what now? Weren’t you aching for it?”

Again Hux gave that playful grin.

“I want you to do me a favour. Go to my jacket and put your hand in the right pocket.”

He walked there and did what Hux asked him. Inside that pocket there was a lipstick, still wrapped in plastic. Hux’s voice echoed in the background.

“Do you remember those pics you sent me while you were still living with your parents?”

He remembered pretty well those pics. It was a night both his mother and father were out. Ben was horny and wanted to make a special surprise for Hux. He stole a red lipstick from his mother’s stuff and gathered the cutest textiles he found at home, as she was roughly two feet shorter than him and nothing from her wardrobe would fit. He took some very androgynous and artsy pictures, some quite pornographic, and sent to Hux, who loved it, just regretted not being able to see him like this on cam.

“Well, you complained you didn’t take any lipstick with you when you moved, and didn’t want to be seen buying one… so there it is. Wear it. You owe me a peepshow.”

Being bossed around like this was something that infuriated Kylo but, damn it, there was something in the way Hux ordered it, maybe his tone of voice, or how natural it was for him to command, that made Kylo quite horny. He had loved taking those photos too. There was something very sexy about dressing up in a way one couldn’t tell exactly his gender, and the idea of repeating the shoot live this time made him feel heat building up on him…

“What I am gonna wear?”

“Go to my room, right door at the end of the corridor. There are some things for you to wear inside my closet. Just don’t fucking ask me about it.”

Kylo seemed quite puzzled.

“...how come?”

“Just go. And take off your underwear, please.”

\----

He came back a few minutes later. He was parading a gorgeous black dress, that kind of dress you know it cost what lots of people earn during a whole year just by having a look at it. Hux was still sitting on the couch. Now he was about to finish a cigarette, and delighted with each step Kylo took towards him, his usual heavy walk turned into something a bit more delicate. Kylo had no idea of what he wanted to do. He only knew he was feeling sexy as hell, and wanted to provoke Hux until he couldn’t stand it anymore. His expression was both languid and menacing, and he stared at Hux as if he wanted to dominate him.

“Show me these tits. Little whore.” Hux said, drowning further into the couch, his hand slipping until the zipper of his own pants.

Kylo pulled down one of the dress’ sleeves, and kept staring.

“Take off the other, show me everything.” Hux’s hand started moving underneath his black boxers.

Kylo pulled down the other sleeve, letting the dress fall loose until his waist. He could hear Hux moaning softly, his eyes fixed on him as if he were an animal looking at a piece of meat.

“Show me the asshole… go…”

He turned his back to Hux and lifted the dress, leaving his ass exposed for some seconds, and then put it down again. Hux wouldn’t stop, and only grew faster and louder.

“Now shove a finger inside… fuck, get the lube in that drawer near the TV.”

He went there, took the lube and went back in front of Hux, who seemed to be clearly drooling. It was gonna be easier than he thought.

“Yeah, yeah, you can shove two… ahhh, fuck…”

But he didn’t shove anything. He walked towards Hux and sat on his lap, overpowering him with his weight. He grabbed Hux abruptly by his hair and leaned near his ear.

“No fucking way I’m gonna be your little bitch. Turn back.”

He couldn’t care less if he’d end up killing Hux’s boner. He knew the bastard quite well. He knew how he enjoyed a power struggle. On the months they had exchanged nudes and cammed for each other he had shoved anything you can imagine in his ass, under Hux’s orders. He had been called a slut, a whore, a worthless bitch. He had masturbated until almost coming and denied the orgasm until Hux told him to cum. Now it was time for his little “revenge”. Hux had told him he had a liking for big, manly men, and being a bottom. Well, now it was his time to shine.

“That’s vicious, Kylo… what a son of a bitch.” said Hux with a mix of disgust and arousal in his face, while his shirt and undershirt were roughly ripped off. Kylo’s hands roamed again over his body, grabbing and rubbing every inch of skin they could. Then he flipped Hux’s body facing down, and let him lie on his belly.

“The condoms are in that same drawer…” Hux said with a wavering voice, muffled by the cushions.

“Why that?”

“...to not get AIDS???...” Hux seemed genuinely revolted. “Kylo, you never fucked a man, did you?”

“Yeah, calm down, fuck, I’m going there.” replied a kinda indignant Kylo, getting up and moving towards the drawer.

“Man, what kind of sex ed are they teaching in schools nowadays? Jesus Christ, Kylo, you’re such a manbaby.”

That offense was all he needed for his wrath to hit the ceiling, as well as his wish to make Hux pay for that. He jumped back on Hux, shoving his dick slowly and making the poor bastard release a whimper:

“Ooow…”

“You wanted this, bitch. You like this.” 

He effectively liked that. It didn’t take too long for Hux to cum, and ask for more. By the end of that night they fucked three or four times, and then passed out among used condoms and lube-stained cushions.

\-----------

They resumed their talks as soon as Kylo arrived home, teasing each other about last night’s adventure. It was settled now: they were officially a couple. They could send each other Valentine’s gifts, have romantic dates, the only condition was that Kylo should never speak of their relationship in any social media. 

He quickly realised why. After that day, he noticed how many transport trucks with the HUX logo were on the streets, it was on lots of hurdles as well. He also saw how the building of the “Hux Smart Solutions on Engineering” company stretched over a whole block. Kylo had the entire career of that man at the reach of his smartphone... a wickedly empowering thought.

\------

It didn’t take more than a few days for Snooker to enter Kylo’s room and tell him they were gonna do something very important

“Yeah but what? And where?” Kylo replied, turning down the volume of his music.

“Calm yourself. You will know. Come with me.”

They entered a car customised with several religious symbols, including some Kylo couldn’t identify. It was being driven by a man he had never seen before. He got unbelievably anxious with that, and during nearly the two hours of travel Snooker didn’t tell him anything about what was going to happen. He watched the landscape of the city’s outskirts gradually be replaced by state highways, and after that a dirt road crossing a bushwood(4). 

_Fuck, I’m gonna die_ , he thought. He desperately wanted to open the car’s door and escape, but for some unknown reason he just froze, which made him furious at himself.

The car parked near a shed made of cob walls(5), covered by graffiti. Thick bushes grew all around the property. As soon as they entered that zone, Kylo felt a powerful, malignant energy coming from that house. He knew a lot about energies and had become quite good at identifying them. That energy he felt there could only be compared to the times he dealt with vengeful deities, of dubious morality. Panic gave place to curiosity, and he walked with Snooker and the stranger towards the shed.

Around ten people were there, standing in front of a small stage made of concrete. An empty throne was placed over it. They wore ceremonial attire and masks, some all in white, some all in black. Despite being still early in the afternoon, the room was darkened by thick red curtains. Snooker instructed Kylo and the stranger to join them, climbed the stage and sat at the throne. At Kylo’s side was a tall man, all clad in black, with an air of solemnity. A cap covered most of his face, the only visible parts were his small and rosy mouth, and his red hair combed back…

“Hux?? What are you doing here? What’s happening??”

Hux gave him a “shh”.

“Just listen to what he’s going to say.”

Kylo was puzzled.

“Is this a cult??”

There was total silence around Kylo, but Snooker’s voice seemed to reverberate louder than it should when he started his speech. A very formal speech, so formal it sounded unnatural.

“My good army. My loyal hound dogs… practitioners of the ancient arts, from all the city and beyond, what a joyful day to have you here…”

Now everything was clear for Kylo: Snooker had began a sect. He had spent years recruiting enthusiasts of several branches of occultism all around the country, making contacts, hoarding money. This was gonna be a special ceremony. He looked around: the people in black, the sobriety, the energy shadows assembling and dissipating near them. Hux with his eyes fixed on the horizon, passionately, almost in a trance with the speech… this was literally everything he wanted in his life, since his teens. He was living the dream.

“...and upon the blessings of the Dark Force, I introduce here my apprentice…”

Each word of Snooker made him more raptured, more attentive.

“...the mighty Kylo Ren.”

_...that was him. He was an apprentice?? What was happening??_

“...for years trained by me, chosen for the potential of his bloodline, ignorant of distractions…”

At this very moment, it was like a book containing all the story of his life had just been opened in front of his eyes. The talks with Snooker since his childhood, the lessons on several religions, the encouragement of evil deeds and connections to dark energies, the questions about his grandfather, even the work as a dealer. Everything was part of the training, and now he was ready to join the sect. His heart was beating way too fast, and he didn’t know anymore what he was thinking or feeling. The only thing he knew is that now all of that was making sense, and the experience he was having was undoubtedly transcendental. 

“...and will join us in the First Order, needing to be signed and sealed in blood. So be it.”

A figure covered from head to toe in chrome grey took Kylo’s arm and walked him to a room at the back of the shed. He didn’t care about what could possibly be the sign and seal in blood; he was completely aloof from anything that wasn’t the power and severity emanating from that situation.

The figure took a tattooing kit from inside its bag, and asked Kylo to remove his shirt. A suspiciously familiar voice, that broke his trance immediately.

“...do I know you?” he inquired.

The figure removed its helmet, revealing a face he really didn’t want to see again.

“Unfortunately, yes. It seems that wonky date won’t be the last tattoo I’ll put on you.”

Fátima took from her bag a mould on the same shape of the simplified black sun of Hux’s necklace, and placed it right in the middle of Kylo’s back.

“Now prepare yourself, this one will hurt as hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)It's a reference to Daylight Saving Time, and how it changes the lenght of the days. We're currently in April at the story.  
> (2)A symbol commonly used by both occult and Neonazi groups. The First Order symbol is likely inspired by it.  
> (3)Although we do have ginger people in here, they aren't quite a common sight! A naturally red haired Brazilian can be mistaken by a foreigner depending on the state they go to.  
> (4)"Matagal". Not quite easy to translate. Reference pics here: http://3dejulhonoticias.com.br/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/Matagal-em-Sena-Madureira.jpg  
> (5)"Pau a pique", ancient construction method, very common depending on the state. Reference pics here: https://c2.staticflickr.com/4/3372/3572821141_1ae272a6c2_b.jpg


	4. stabbed heart [coração atravessado]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More people from the past return. When you are high enough, the music genre doesn't matter. Kylo's heart gets stabbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people asked for the pronunciation of their names:  
> Deise= reads as Daisy  
> Benjamin= almost the same as English, just the emphasis is on 'min' rather than 'Ben'  
> Damião= Dah-mee-own [emphais on 'own']  
> Fátima= Fah-chi-ma [emphasis on 'Fah']  
> Serafim= Seh-rah-Finn [got it? :p]  
> Fun fact: in Portuguese, Hux would be pronounced 'oox'. He prefers the English pronounciation on this fic, tho. 😂

ch 4.stabbed heart

How badly did she want to eat one of those brigadeiro[1]! It was almost 1 in the morning, and the poor girl’s last meal had been a prato feito[2] around noon. For the rest of the day she had tried to cheat hunger drinking water, smoking or just sleeping. But there’s no way to cheat hunger. You can pretend it’s not there, but eventually it comes and hits you hard: you feel weak, sleepy, your head aches.

She couldn’t sleep where she was because of the noise, nor go home. Nor eat one of the brigadeiro, innocently laying on her tray… because if she ate one, she would get pretty stoned. Those weren’t average brigadeiro, and this wasn’t an average situation. But what was average in her life, really?

You could say she was more or less an average girl until the age of 17. She had no memories of her parents; she only knew she had been living with some complete bastard since she was a kid. He was the owner of a small convenience store, and forced her to fix anything that would break in there, threatening to spank her if she refused. To make matters worse, she was a weirdo that had no friends. The same prowess on studies that made her be accepted at military school was off putting to children her age. The only person that understood her was a boy from high school. Someone very tall, with very big ears and a very big nose, who went by the name of Benjamin. 

He would talk about witchcraft, she would talk about mechanics, but what they really liked to talk about was rock. They would have intense arguments about whether punk or death metal was the best, even getting into nasty fights because of this. It was so brutal sometimes teachers and school staff would have to pull them off each other, but quickly they’d resume being friends again.

They would spend hours killing time in the schoolyard after their classes were over, speaking ill of the teachers. They would run after each other on the street, brandishing dead branches as if they were swords, and using backpacks as shields. They would hang out at their local mall, eat junk food and even enter the mall’s fountain when the security guards weren’t paying attention. At one of these innocent outings, they had their first kiss.

It didn’t take too long until Ben asked her to be his girlfriend, which she promptly accepted, despite the striking age difference. The other twelve year olds were just annoying preps, and she wasn’t one of them! She knew exactly what she wanted from life. She already knew when she grew up she would sell the convenience store, throw her stepfather in a retirement home, adopt a dog named Baby and be a rich and independent woman.

Life had other plans, and didn’t ask for Deise’s permission. After three months dating, she was completely sure Ben was a big man-baby and didn’t deserve the company of a woman like her. Her family life was also getting worse. As she was growing up, her stepfather started demanding more and more of her, until one day he demanded something she just couldn’t accept.

On a night in 2011, she packed her things, met with her best friend at the bus stop and ran away, never to return. She was 17 years old.

From that year to the present day, her memories were foggy. She had all kinds of jobs, slept where she could, did what she should and also what she shouldn’t do to stay alive and safe. About one year ago she met Serafim, Fim to his friends, a boy around her age who was starting life again after leaving the crime world. They started sharing a home. Not long after that, Fim met Damião, who was a uni student and had a small apartment just for him. Fim and Damião started dating, and asked Deise to live with them. Actually, not Deise anymore. She had lost her documents and never was truly a fan of her given name. So, for everyone who met her from now on, she was Rey.

\----------------------

The brigadeiro stared at Rey, and Rey stared at them. She looked at her tray and thought about how much each one had cost her, how many she would likely sell until the end of that night, but her mind was too tired to do the maths. _One fucking brigadeiro won’t be a loss_ , she decided. She quickly left the crowd in front of the nightclubs, looking for some place she could eat and get high without any disturbance.

A hand leaned on her shoulder. Without even realising what she was doing, she dropped the tray, pulled her knife, slammed the person against a wall and pointed her knife at the person’s chest. It was a quite tall person, and this forced Rey to grab them by the trim of the shirt instead of their neck. They were wearing a black bandana with a skull, covering their entire face, the only visible part being the eyes. Dark eyes, a bit almond shaped, scared. Something on the back of Rey’s mind was telling her she knew this person from before, and it wasn’t any of the dealers or neo-nazis she had spanked.

“Don’t kill me. You know you can’t.” a very deep and kinda whiny voice whispered from under the bandana. Yes, Rey knew this person from before. She knew them _very_ well. She stared at them for some seconds, curiously, before yanking off the cloth from their face.

“...Ben??? From military school??? What the fuck?? Fuck it man, I FELT it was you, that’s creepy as fuck, Jesus…”

“Don’t be afraid. I felt it too.”

They analysed each other’s faces, completely dumbfounded at the sight of familiar features among the new piercings, tattoos, marks, wrinkles. Ben hadn’t changed too much since his school days. His face was only a little bit longer, and he was wearing piercings on his lower lip, his nose and his eyebrows. He looked even taller than before, which was surreal as he was already roughly a foot taller than her when they first met. His hair was still thick and black, but this time the tips were dyed a reddish orange. She felt happy about finding him again, but at the same time, a wave of melancholy hit her.

“You are a petty thief now, aren’t ya? Shit, man. We’re fucked up. I lost all my candy. Fuck it, man… damn…” she squatted, and started picking up all the candy that didn’t get smashed against the sidewalk.

“Fuck, Ben... “

So, that was life. Even Ben, who was a cis, straight, white male, ended up in the same shitty situation as her. Pointing pocket knives at people, pulling random women on dark alleys, just to rob a few bucks. Thankfully she only had to do this once or twice, but for someone Ben’s size it could be a promising ‘career’. Even worse, she had lost an entire tray of chocolate powder, condensed milk, weed… it was decided, she would get wasted that night to avoid thinking about the loss.

She listened to Ben’s voice over her.

“I can help you to bake more.”

“Yeah Ben, fuck off, really.”

“No, seriously, I will help you, I can go with you to your home and we’ll bake more.”

His voice sounded desperate. He really wanted to help. He didn’t sound like the street thug that had tried to rob her ten minutes earlier. He sounded like the same weird boy she had met in 2006. She got up and studied his face for a while, as she shoved the empty tray into her bag.

“Do you have any money? I got any, spent my last bucks at the subway.”

“Yeah, I do, we can go to some bakery and get what you need.” he replied.

She decided to give him her trust. Maybe he could buy some booze for them…

“Alright.”

\------------

They bought the ingredients on a twenty-four hour store nearby. Ben grabbed two beers for them, as she had predicted. They had to find a way to kill time all night long; the subway wouldn’t open until the morning, and both his and her working ‘days’ were ruined. They sat by a shop window, and Ben lit a cigarette. The street was deserted, no sign of people or cars around. She tried to start a conversation.

“So… what you been up to, Ben?”

“Quite a lot… shit’s been tough.”

He was as withdrawn as always, refusing to talk about feelings or himself. Actually, it was very likely he couldn’t talk about what he was doing, or who he was working with. His gang would find out.

She knew it was a very dangerous decision hanging out with a man she hadn’t seen for years. He could pretty easily be part of one of the gangs that had sworn death on her and her good friends. But, there was one thing Rey knew that would ALWAYS work: her gut feelings. She could be too drunk to do maths, or too high to ride her bike back home, but if she sensed someone was good or bad, something inevitably would confirm her impression. She sensed Ben wasn’t involved with neo-nazis or anything like that, just a bit lost on life… and too sober to enjoy the night.

“Alright Benjamin, what do ya want to do? There’s some party two blocks from here, rap music, live shit, Fim’s there. You going?” she got up roughly, almost pulling Ben with her.

“I’m not so fond of rap… who’s Fim?”

“Ah, fuck that! My friends are there, lots of booze, shit’s lit. Fim’s Serafim, the boy I live with.”

“...are you dating him?” Ben seemed surprised. It wasn’t so clear for Rey if he had understood she could date whoever she pleased after they broke up.

“Uh, more or less. Fim’s got his man, I fuck him sometimes, we not so fond of monogamy, y’know?”

Ben looked quite curious about the whole situation, widening his eyes and parting his lips a bit. The same cute idiot face he used to make years ago. Ten years later, and he was still the same adorable boy from school! How? And especially, _why was Rey thinking so much about this_?

\---------

The party was just like Rey liked it: the street taken by the crowd, loud music, hot dog trucks, street vendors with their styrofoam boxes full of drinks. She enjoyed staying on her own, but that night was shitty and she needed to have some fun, urgently. Forget everything, get high as a kite, especially now the loss of the brigadeiro was fully recovered. Ben, on the other hand, looked pretty much out of his place. _Once mommy’s boy, forever mommy’s boy_. She walked towards an older lady across the street, with a purple hair. The lady was talking enthusiastically to a younger group, until she saw Rey.

“Hey, what’s up? I thought you were working tonight.” she waved.

“Good good, just bringing the boy that went to school with me to have some fun.”

The woman discreetly glanced at Ben.

“God, sweetie, you’ve been always a slut for rocker boys, haven’t ya?”

Rey gave a sheepish smile.

“He’s my ex, Lyn, for fucks sake… you bringing us some Corote[3] tonight?”

“Fine, just don’t forget the condoms!”

“You’re a fucking crazy dyke!”

\---------

She came back to Ben with the bottles some minutes later. He was already feeling a bit tipsy, and got even moreso as he drank. The music was too loud, and he didn’t care anymore about the genre. He just danced with the crowd, not embarrassed at all about not knowing the moves or the lyrics. Rey danced with him, her teased hair and vest full of patches shaking at each bass note from the sound boxes.

How beautiful she had become! She was still as flat both front and back as she was when she was 12, that’s true. But her features were way more refined, and the dark lipstick made her lips look fuller. Her body was very thin and she was covered by tattoos, including some on her face. The energy that came from her as she swayed to the song was extremely captivating, even a bit sexy. She smiled a lot and glanced at him sometimes, turning away her eyes quickly. It seemed like she was having the happiest night of her life.

After a while, he realised he was dancing alone, and shoved himself in the crowd to look for Rey. The beat, the alcohol in his blood and the only light source being a half burned street lamp made him dizzy. He almost tripped several times making his way around the people, and certainly stepped on a lot of feet.

When he finally escaped the crowd, he found Rey sitting in the gutter, with two men by her side. The smell of weed filled the air.

“Hey Ben, where did you go?” she shouted as she saw him.

“It’s not Ben, it’s Kylo.” he really wasn’t fond of the idea of anyone but Rey calling him by his old nickname. He was so not fond of this, that he remembered to correct her even completely drunk as he was. _He wasn’t that weak for alcohol… did he drink more from other people’s cups while he was dancing? He couldn’t recall..._

“Yeah, okay Kyle. This is Fim, and this is Damião.”

The two men greeted him. He would barely remember later one of them had a mohawk.

“Do you smoke?” one of them asked.

“If you don’t, you will… Rey here is a fucking pothead.” the man with the mohawk replied. She didn’t like the tease and started shaking him, laughing on her high.

“Shut the fuck up, Damião! Such an annoying fag!”

Kylo sat with them and smoked. The four stayed laying on the sidewalk, telling stories and gazing at the night. There wasn’t any star to be seen, just the skyline behind the crowd. Most of the lights in the buildings were off, but some windows remained lit.

“I’m fucked up, man. I killed my father, I’m running from the cops, I’m living with a motherfucking con that forces me to spank his enemies, just because I’m fucking 6’3.” Kylo said, leaning his head on the ground.

“Oh fuck, why did ya kill our old man?” asked Damião. His accent was slightly different from the others.

“He called me a fag. He caught me fucking a man, he said he was gonna shave my fucking hair, take me to a shrink.”

“And your mum did nothing?”

“She said I was gonna give my uncle a stroke. That she would take away my phone.”

Damião gave a deep sigh.

“Homophobia sucks… I know this shit, I’m trans and gay, Serafim is pan, Rey is pan too…”

“...pan?” even stoned as he was, some things didn’t make sense for Kylo.

“Someone who don’t care about sex, gender. They do who they do.”

“I do who I do.” suddenly Rey got up, and sat on Kylo’s lap.

“I told you she was gonna get him.” Fim told Damião, chuckling discreetly.

Kylo couldn’t understand anything, as he was pretty much stoned. He knew he wanted Rey, and Rey gave him all the clues she wanted him as well. She grabbed the sides of his head, and leaned in delicately.

Her kiss was intense, as intense as Hux’s, but there was no aggression there, just passion. It seemed like she wanted her and Kylo to become just one thing, just one movement. Just one body, swaying slowly and deeply, as her hands grabbed more and more firmly his hair and his neck, and his hands held her softly by the waist.

After they stopped, she smiled a bit for him and got up, shouting something to a friend she had just spotted. The crowd had started to disband. Kylo could vaguely remember he was dating Hux. All he wanted was another kiss from Rey.

The sun started to rise shortly after that. The subway was open again, and the four could go back to their homes. It was only when the alcohol and the weed began to wear off that Kylo realised he had a stupid idea. He couldn’t go with Rey to help her bake more brigadeiro. He needed to be at his house by the morning, or the old man would suspect he hadn’t done what he should. He did what he should, after all. The goal was to scare away the local punk girl from the “spiked” food business. She hadn’t made any sale that night, Snooker had nothing to complain about. He was too tired, anyway. He was sure he’d arrive home and just drop dead on his mattress, without even taking off his shoes. He just needed to settle something before letting Rey on her way.

“You sending me a request?” Rey shouted from the other side of the ticket gates, as the trio walked away from Kylo.

“Yeah, what’s your name?” he shouted back.

“Rey Jacú. You?”

“Kylo Ren. Kay, why, el, o, Ren.”

“Done! See ya around. Let’s hang out again someday!”

\------------

Kylo couldn’t remember most of that night. He could recall he had danced and had met people, and that he had written graffiti with a Sharpie pen on his way to the subway. Also, he knew he had kissed Rey.

Yes, he had cheated on Hux with her. He really didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t tell Hux, obviously, but he didn’t want to forget what happened. He did not send a friend request to her, as he said he’d do, but he also did not delete the poorly taken selfies of that night. He’d lie on his bed, staring at those selfies. Her toothy and gummy smile, her light freckles, her braless nipples poking under her shirt… the teen years, all over again. He’d think about her, and get so frustrated he’d even growl. He had to concentrate on Hux. Only. Hux.

He started getting paranoid. _What if Hux finds out? What if he stops loving me? What if Rey finds out? What if Snooker finds out??_ He got completely stressed out. He couldn’t concentrate on anything he was watching, anything he was eating. He was destroying way more stuff than his usual, smoking and drinking desperately. 

The priority was Hux, yes. The man that had been with him through all those tough months. That knew him intimately. That was always online when he needed him. Rey was just a nobody from school times. After all, she already had Fim [this one he managed to remember the name], the nordestino[4], her punk friends. She just kissed him because she was stoned. Not Hux: that was true love. They had a romantic dinner date, they always would have topics to talk about… he had to prove to Hux he still loved him. He couldn’t lose Hux this way. He needed to do something drastic. He fumbled around the mess that was his room, until he found the black jeans without any holes. He opened his wallet, and counted the money. He let out a sigh of relief: yup, he could do that. Hux would never leave him after that.

\--------

He went to the same tattoo shop he went to get his angel done, the same time as before. The artist greeted him.

“So, what’s it gonna be today? Is there any design you’re thinking about?”

“Show me the hearts.” replied Kylo, gravely.

The artist had a lot of hearts in his portfolio, in several styles. A bloody heart stabbed by a dagger caught Kylo’s attention, obviously. It wasn’t just a gorgeous drawing. It was _his_ heart. Stabbed, bleeding, hurting. Still pulsing, even if just with the force of his hatred. That was the heart Hux had fallen in love with. That was the heart he’d keep loving. Each prick of the needle made him think more about Hux. It felt like it was his love there. During his previous tattoo sessions he felt nothing but discomfort, but that experience was almost like being in an emotional trance.

All he could think about was how much he loved Hux, with all his heart. Thinking about Hux he paid the artist. Thinking about Hux he agreed to like the artist’s new tattoo picture on Instagram. Thinking about Hux he took a picture of his arm wrapped in plastic, and sent it to him, with a loving dedication. Thinking about Hux he walked out of the studio on his way to the subway, until he realised he was surrounded by four men.

“Give Snooker our little message, bro.”

He had no time to react. A fist landed on his nose, a blow hit his head. Quickly he realised he had fallen in the ground, and the men were likely kicking and stomping on him. He couldn’t get back on his feet, just feel blood wetting his face.

The last thing he heard was the ambulance’s siren, and his last thought was how badly he wanted Hux with him in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]a traditional brazilian candy made of chocolate and condensed milk  
> [2]beans, rice, meat and something else. the working class's meal, any restaurant in here offers it for a very cheap price  
> [3]alcholic drink. pretty cheap, pretty strong  
> [4]nordestino [northeastern]: people from brazil's northeast region. the region has a quite distinctive culture/accent, and they are highly stigmatised on richer regions of brazil [like the region where this story is set on]. the term is neutral in conotation, but represents a quite strong identity, so i opted for not translating

**Author's Note:**

> (1)the date system in brazil is day/month/year  
> (2)3 reais = roughly one dollar. what seems a lot of money can be actually just a small amount in reais.  
> (3)in brazil most people won't leave their house to attend college, and it's quite common for a 25 year old to still live with their parents  
> (4)brazilian billionaire. it was almost a slang term for 'dirty rich fella' before he got arrested  
> (5)whatsapp. one of the most used social media apps of latin america, it's basically a facebook messenger.  
> (6)stag in portuguese [veado] is a slur against gay men  
> (7)in the southern hemisphere seasons are the opposite of the northern, so a northern winter is a southern summer  
> (8)protestant churches are religions that grow more and more in brazil. unfortunately, some of these churches are ruled by scammers, that pretend to cure people in live tv shows to take their money


End file.
